


Fighting The Sickness

by EmetoOmo



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Emetophilia, Gen, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-08
Updated: 2018-08-08
Packaged: 2019-06-23 18:21:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15612207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmetoOmo/pseuds/EmetoOmo
Summary: McCree couldn’t imagine there was anything worse than death. That was, until it was denied to him.





	Fighting The Sickness

**Author's Note:**

> anonymous asked: Imagine Jesse had died in the explosion with Gabe,and in turn taken in to Talon to be given the same treatment.However,he doesn’t take to it as well as Gabe does,and often finds himself vomiting up the ‘serums’ and ‘foods’ they’re given for sustenance.He and Gabe are training,and Jesse gets thrown into the wall by a much more concentrating Gabe.Je only gets about halfway to the trashcan before he starts hacking up smoke and black sludge from the reactions the ‘food’ gives his belly
> 
> This is likely nothing like the prompt asked for, but it's what was inspired from it.
> 
> Warning: Graphic descriptions of vomit, suicidal thoughts, actual suicide of a non-main character, and violence ahead.

Jesse never imagined he’d be sitting on the edge of his bunk, staring down the barrel of his own gun, contemplating the idea of tasting the lead…yet here he was. There was only one in the chamber, and tentatively, he gave it a good spin, flipped the compartment back in, and clicked it once. There was no gamble in it, he still knew what chamber was filled, but the rush of it. The idea that maybe,  _maybe_  he’d find the courage to do it this time… 

…it was strangely, the only thing that made him feel alive anymore.  

A pounding on the heavy door to his room broke him from his thoughts. “Yeah?” He called, his voice ringing empty in his own ears.  

“Meal time.”  

He grimaced. “Not hungry.” 

The door swung open, slamming into the wall, before a young man was tossed on the floor half-nude. He was trembling, beaten within an inch of his life. “Meal time.” Reaper said again, crossing his arms.  

“I’m not doing it.” McCree said stubbornly, pulling his hat down. He knew better than to plead for his life. It hadn’t worked yet, and he didn’t have the heart to watch Reaper splatter his brains across the wall.  

“I’ve had just about enough of this bullshit fucking pity party,” Reaper growled, picking McCree up by the throat and shoving him against the wall. The gunslinger hit hard, and then dissipated into smoke, before solidifying rather painfully on the floor gasping for breath. Breath…that his lungs no longer required.  

“Wake up, kid. We’re all monsters now.” Gabe said, the sarcastic lilt to his voice hinting to the jab at his former pal Morrison.  

“I ain’t no monster,” McCree grit out, kicking his boot at him only for Reaper to grab a handful of his hair and drag him over to the face of that petrified, gasping young man. It was likely some poor Overwatch recruit caught too close to where they were hidden. Some nobody who knew nothing, and thus…was only useful for  _food_.  

“Tell him that…. cause from where I stand, that’s exactly what you look like to him,” Reaper taunted, holding them face to face like that. The prisoner pissed himself, the smell of urine quickly filing McCree’s senses and causing him to scrunch his nose, thankful when he was released. There was no warning as he turned suddenly, tackling Reaper forcefully into the wall. They both phased through it, ending up on the ground in the next room with a thud. The cowboy swung to punch Reaper, only to be dodged and creating a crater in the concrete floor with his metal fist.  

Gabriel laughed, like it was some great game he was getting a kick out of. He easily tossed the sharpshooter off him and into the bed, landing atop him to back hand him in the mouth hard enough McCree instantly tasted copper. His head snapped back, a red glow starting to burn in his eyes as he growled. 

“That’s it, kid! Let the beast out to play!” he taunted him, cackling all the while as McCree grabbed him and rolled them. They fought for control, punching, kicking, kneeing. The pain was like white hot lightning in McCree’s veins, calling to a horror in the shadows it cast. He  _wanted_  Reaper to hit him, he  _thrived_  on the ache, and when Gabe picked him up and threw him  _through_  a concrete wall…well…he laughed the kind of sound that colored the sort of heady madness welling inside him.  

He stood, his stance aggressive, his hands out as if ready to draw his gun. That gun that was currently laying on the floor of his room. It didn’t matter, that darkness took over his face, twisted what used to be a charming smile into something craven when the red glint in his eye intensified.  

Reaper stared back into his face and grinned, raising his hand just to taunt him to come on. What he  _didn’t_  expect was the swiftness in which McCree picked up the cup of pens on the table next to him and begin chucking them like projectiles at him. The first two he dodged, but the third thrown with such speed and force that made Gabe wonder if the others had been there for distraction, embedded itself into the tender flesh between collar bone and shoulder. 

Before he could even think, another stuck out of his thigh. Sheer instinct brought him to take the form of a shade before the third could land, leaving those pens to drop to the floor. His dark cloud dripped black, tar-like blood as he came upon McCree like a nightmare, reaching into the cowboy and hitting him in his core like a freight train. 

McCree lost all cohesion, far too swiftly, causing his head to spin. He couldn’t get his bearings, reaching and reaching and meeting nothing like a ghost frantic to convince himself he wasn’t quite as far gone as he was. Reaper only laughed, continuing to assault him, shadow for shadow, shade for shade, until it was all McCree could do to tremble in flux.  

Until suddenly…the sound of a gunshot pierced the air.  

Gabe stopped, solidifying and looking back toward the sound. McCree took the moment to coalesce before he realized what it was. He’d know that sound anywhere. “No!!! No no no no no!” He cried out, running on unsteady legs, his head still swimming. He bumped into walls, tripping over piles of debris, until he slipped in a pile of blood and brain matter as he entered back into his room. 

He’d found his gun. 

McCree shoulders lurched forward as suddenly black sludge and dark clouded wisps fell from his lips. The sludge densely splattered the floor while the clouds merely vanished before they could hit like rain evaporating before it could hit the ground. Pain wracked his entire body as another forceful wave of that unnatural vomit, still smelling like whatever god-awful chemicals they mixed into his serums, sprayed across his bed and out his nose.  

Reaper simply chuckled, kicking the corpse, and not finding any viable soul left in him. “Moira won’t be happy you wasted your dinner, kid.” 

“Fuck. Her.” McCree grit out between painful retches, gripping onto the nightstand to keep from falling over.  

“You’ll come around.” Gabe said simply, passing by, and punching him in the gut. McCree fell to his knees, expelling more thick tar vomit and a good amount of blood. “I did.” 


End file.
